The Archetype Association
by Jim R. McBriarty
Summary: The XMen's newest member has just shown up at the front door literally. He's a powerful psi, an enigmatic mystic and a darn good cook too! He shows the XMen a new view of the world and shows Rogue some undivided attention!
1. Author's Notes

Author's Notes.

This story actually started almost a year ago, and has been changing steadily ever since I began it. It's sort of my attempt to see what would happen if I crossed the X-Men with a Vertigo book.

I will freely admit that the timeline on this is not very exact, since my writing style tends to consist of several days of frantic typing followed by several weeks of formulating the next part in my head. But as a general guideline, try this:

This story diverges from regular continuity just before _Fatal Attractions,_ but some parallels remain. While Logan never lost his adamantium, and Magneto was never mind-wiped, Colossus did leave the team and go to Excalibur, and Jubilee is in Generation X. So, for clarity's sake, let's say that the first scene of the first chapter takes place four to five months before the time period covered by _X-Men_ 25.

Purists will note that Gambit does not appear in the story. I honestly haven't decided what role, if any, Gambit will play in _The Archetype Association._ As will become clear in just a few chapters, I have other plans for Rogue.

Comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated. Please send them to me at 


	2. Chapter 1

**Archetype Chronicles Part 1**

**Aran Islands, Ireland**

The cliff was a nearly vertical slope, and was, as usual, deserted, cut off from the nearest town by the pounding surf and salt - coated ocean winds which cut at the face and choked off breathing. The freezing rain, carried along by the blasts of air, was accompanied by thunder which trembled across the sky, moving in tempo with the bursts of lightning glowing above the clouds. For years, the consensus among the locals had been that only an idiot or a madman would live on that coast.

However, someone did live there. They were still trying to figure out just what category he fit into. They were starting to think that he was a category all to himself.

He had shown up about three years ago, and had paid a ridiculous amount of money for the land. When he had applied to the local zoning board to build a house on the cliff, they had been shocked that anyone would even consider living there. His plan was approved, but it was rumored that some money had exchanged hands before that happened. When someone from the local historical society pointed out to him that an old pre-Christian burial site was nearby, he asked if his plans would cause any disruption of the site. When told no, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "At least I'll have quiet neighbors."

He had built the house himself, by hand, and moved right in. Beyond his weekly walks into town to pick up his food and mail, no one saw or spoke with the man. He had no utility bills to pay, since he bought bottled water in town, and a windmill that he had erected generated all of his power. In point of fact, he used very little power, since the only electricity that he used, beyond lighting, powered a small laptop computer and satellite dish.

That night, however, it wasn't on. He simply sat in front of the hearth, gazing into the flames of his peat-and-driftwood fire.

"Well," he said to the fire, "I think I'm finally ready. Where should I start?"

The fire didn't respond. It hardly ever did.

"With them, eh? Yes," he said reflectively. "Yes, I think we will be able to help each other out. Thanks for the advice." He did some mental calculation in his head, got up, walked over to the computer, and switched it on. He quickly logged onto his online service, and composed a message:

To: vcoopernsa.gov.usa

Contact X as per our previous discussion. Awaiting your reply.

He sent the message, logged off, and turned off the computer. Getting up, he walked back to the fire.

"It's done. Now we wait." He banked the fire and went to bed.

**Salem Center, New York  
Six months later**

It was a pleasant spring day, and Ororo Munroe was making the most of it, working on her outdoor garden with the satisfaction of one who is totally content with her task. The tulips were doing very well, she decided, but the crocuses were looking a little limp. Perhaps some more mulch, she thought...

"Morning, 'Roro," she heard behind her.

"Good morning, Warren," she replied, looking up. Warren Worthington III, a.k.a. Archangel, walked up beside her.

"How's the garden?" he asked.

"It's coming along very nicely, thank you."

"Betsy and I are going into town. Want to come along?"

She considered it. "Yes. Can you wait fifteen minutes so I can clean up and change?"

"No problem. Here, I'll get that," he said, picking up the basket of garden tools.

"Thank you again," she said, as they walked back towards the mansion.

"You know, I wonder sometimes why you bother," Warren said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you have complete control over the weather, right? So why do you bother to put all that sweat into your garden, when your powers could make it so much easier?"

"Firstly, I may control the elements, but I can't control other variables such as soil condition, weeds, or insect damage."

"That's true," he conceded.

"Secondly, I keep that garden going for personal reasons."

"I don't get it."

She sighed. "It's more to teach myself humility than anything else. I was once worshipped as a goddess, remember. Those flowers, no matter how much work I put into them, will do whatever they please, and won't apologize if things don't go the way I want them to. That tends to negate any chance that my ego will get too big for my own good."

Warren chuckled. "You want these in their usual place in the garage?"

"Yes, please."

Ororo went up to her room, created a small rain cloud, and took a brief but delicious shower. When she was done, she got dressed and met Warren and Elizabeth Braddock down in the foyer.

"All set?" Betsy asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Where were you planning on..."

"I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt your trip, my friends."

Ororo looked behind her. Charles Xavier was coming out of his study, his "wheelchair" floating about two feet above the floor.

"Is there an emergency, Charles?" she asked.

"It's not an emergency, but it is worrisome, and I think I'll need a response from all of the X-Men before I know how best to proceed. If we could all meet in the briefing room in fifteen minutes, I'll explain in more detail."

Fifteen minutes later, all of the X-Men were sitting at the large table in the briefing room, with Xavier at the head.

"I received a call earlier this morning from Valerie Cooper. She has an individual who wishes to join the X-Men."

"So what's the problem, Chuck?" Wolverine asked. "New admissions are decided on by the senior team members, aren't they? That's not our department."

"There are several problems, Logan. One: This individual contacted Val through her private e-mail address nine months ago. Two: He knows far more about us than I am comfortable with. Three: He'll be here in fifteen minutes."

The room exploded at that. "How did he know where we are?" Cyclops exclaimed. "That's a major breach of security!"

"It gets worse, Scott. He won't be at the gate in fifteen minutes, he'll be at the _front door_ in fifteen - no, sorry - fourteen minutes."

"What about all our security?" asked Jean.

"Val asked that herself. She was told, and I quote: 'It won't make any difference.'"

"So who is our impending visitor, Charles?" asked Henry McCoy. "Do we know anything about him?"

"Val said that he's bringing the information that we'll need with him. All we have right now is a name."

"And what's that?"

"Archetype."

The team members were placed in strategic locations throughout the mansion, leaving Xavier, Jean, and Cyclops standing in the foyer.

"Is Hank monitoring the school grounds?" Scott asked tensely.

Jean concentrated for a moment. "Yes. No sign of anything."

"How long do we have?"

"Three minutes," replied Xavier.

"It would take longer than that just to walk here from the gate," Scott mused, "and that's assuming that the security is off. Could he be a flier?"

"I have no idea, Scott."

"You're putting an awful lot of faith in Val Cooper, Charles," Jean said. "Are you sure that you can trust her in this case? Remember that incident last year with X-Factor."

"I don't think Val had much choice in this matter, Jean. She never said anything outright, but I got the sense that whoever this person is, he's a resource that we have to make sure is on our side. Besides, you're forgetting something. If he can get past our security to pay us a visit, then he can attack us just as easily. The fact that he's telling us in advance what he's going to do makes it unlikely that he's a threat."

"Either that or he's extremely cocky," Scott grumbled. "This is too cloak-and-dagger for me."

At the one-minute mark, Scott activated his wrist communicator. "Anything, Hank?"

_"No sign of anyone,"_ was his reply.

Three seconds later, there was a knock at the door. They all looked at it sharply.

"Jean, would you get that from here, please?" Xavier requested calmly.

Jean telekenitically took hold of the knob, and opened the door.

A man stood on the front steps, dressed in a grey overcoat with black gloves.

"Good afternoon," he said with a slightly Irish accent. "Professor Charles Xavier, I presume?"

"Yes," Xavier replied. "You're early."

"Am I?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "My watch read 1100 hours and five seconds."

"You're running seven seconds fast."

"Really? I'll have to do something about that...later. May I come in, or shall we conduct our business on the front porch?"

"Open the coat," Scott said, "and then walk in. Slowly."

"Very well." He unbuttoned the coat, and opened it. Underneath, he was dressed in grey trousers and jacket, with a white dress shirt, a black tie, and a black vest, with a chain hanging between the pockets. He walked in carefully, keeping eye contact with Xavier. Once he was past the door, Jean manually closed it again.

"Shall I remove the coat?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Xavier replied. The man removed his coat and held it.

"Just drop it," Jean told him. When he did so, Jean caught it with her telekinesis and hung it on the rack. "Thank you," he told her.

"Any weapons?" Scott asked her.

"No," she replied. After a moment she said, "None on him either."

"Now that we've determined that I'm not out to destroy all of you..."

"We haven't come to that conclusion _yet_, Mister..." Scott snapped.

"For now, you may call me Archetype."

"Right. Jean, do you sense anything from him?"

Jean frowned. "Scott, I can't make heads or tails of his thoughts. They're going all over the place."

"I can explain that," Archetype replied.

"Later," Xavier interrupted. "For now, I want the information that Ms. Cooper said that you would bring with you."

"Of course." He slowly reached into one of the suit pockets, taking out a CD case. "All of the information that you will need is here. Val said that you would have the access code. I insisted on that, mind you. I wanted to eliminate any suspicion that I doctored the disc." He handed the disc to Xavier.

"Jean, call the others in, would you? I want the senior staff in my study. Mr... Archetype will wait in the ante room, under watch, while we review this."

Archetype pulled a paperback book out of his other suit pocket. "What do you think you're doing?" Bishop questioned him.

"Reading," Archetype replied. "If I have to sit in judgment, I may as well get something done in the meantime."

"What's the book?" asked Rogue.

_"Expanded Universe,_ by Robert A Heinlein."

"Science fiction?"

"Yes. Quite good, in fact."

Rogue studied the man carefully. He was about her height, and had a slim but wiry build. He appeared to be in his mid to late twenties, but the silver shot throughout his brown hair made him look a bit older. His eyes were grey, and the glasses that he had put on when he took out his book made him look like he belonged in a classroom, rather than among the X-Men. All in all, he wasn't bad-looking.

He glanced up from his book, and caught her watching him. "Is something wrong, Miss?"

"Uh, no," Rogue said, somewhat embarrassed.

Bishop cut in. "Rogue, I suggest that, until we are given further information by the Professor, we treat this man as an enemy, and not make small talk with him."

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile, Your Honor," Archetype said, smiling slightly. "A good policy, sir. However, I must point out that you just made a tactical error."

"Really?" Bishop said icily. "And what might that have been?"

"There was no guarantee that I knew her name before now, but you just gave it to me. Now I have a name to match her face." He looked at Rogue again. "Not that a face like yours could be forgotten, Miss Rogue." He returned to his book. Rogue had to smile, both to hide her embarrassment at the compliment and her amusement to Bishop's look of chagrin.

A few minutes later, Xavier, Jean, Scott, Warren, Ororo, and Henry entered the room. "We have a few questions for you, sir," Xavier said.

"Of course," Archetype said, putting the book back in his pocket. "But I think that after viewing that disk, you have far more than a _few_ questions. I assure you, my responses will be as truthful as I can make them. There are some answers that I don't have myself."

"Understood. I'd like to test the big question first. Rogue, Bishop, would you both please come over here?"

As they came over to the other side of the room, Logan entered, with a box in his hands. "I'll take care of this part, Chuck. If he's lying, it won't bother me as much."

"If I _am_ lying sir," Archetype said, "these documents will allow you to make sure that when I leave, a satisfactory explanation will be available for my condition." He removed an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, placing it on the end table. He then removed his jacket and placed it on the couch.

"I appreciate it," Logan said dryly.

"Seven plus one?" he asked.

"Right." With that, Logan opened the box, pulling out a .44 Magnum.

"What is this, a test to see if he's invulnerable?" Bishop asked.

Archetype's response was a chill smile.

"Not quite."

Wolverine emptied the clip in less than two seconds. All of the bullets hit Archetype in the heart, going through him, and hitting the wall behind him.

Archetype looked at the holes in his chest for a moment, swaying unsteadily. He looked up at Logan, and gasped two words:

"Nice grouping."

Then he fell to the floor, dead.

"Well," said Logan, "that was interesting."

Henry walked over to the fallen body, felt for a pulse. "He is as the proverbial doornail."

"How long did Val, say, Hank?"

"About five minutes."

Rogue and Bishop gaped at the corpse, looked at each other for a moment, then turned to the professor. "Professor," Rogue asked, "just what the hell did you do that for?"

Xavier glanced at Rogue for a moment. "To prove a point."

"What point? That we can kill unarmed civilians?"

"Just wait, Rogue. Wait and see."

Rogue sat down, shocked at the callous attitude shown by the others. She wondered if it was possible that Xavier had finally snapped. Jean walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This isn't exactly how it looks, Rogue ... hopefully," she said.

"Have you all gone crazy, Jean? How could that have been anything but cold-blooded..." Her voice trailed off. The corpse had moved.

Archetype gasped, moved about jerkingly for a moment, then slowly got up from the floor. He staggered to a chair and sat down.

He looked at Xavier. "Satisfied?" he gasped.

"Yes," Xavier replied quietly. "Hank, take care of him."

"That ... won't be necessary," Archetype gasped, ripping open his shirt.

The holes left by the bullets were quite large. As they watched, each wound closed slowly, finally coalescing into healthy, unblemished flesh.

Archetype looked sympathetically at Rogue and Bishop, then at Xavier. "You should have warned them, you know."

"I couldn't think of any way to tell them."

"I can believe that." He got up, made a slight bow. "My name is Will Riley."

"And, as far as I can tell, I cannot die."


	3. Chapter 2

Archetype Chronicles Part 2

"So," Betsy said, "just when did you find out about this ... ability?"

"About ten years ago," Archetype replied, sipping at his tea. Warren had given him one of his many shirts to wear, and he now looked like nothing had happened to him. He and the X-Men were seated in the formal dining room, surrounding the large table.

"I was working out West, around the Rockies, and was doing a lot of traveling. One night, I was in the middle of nowhere, driving to my next assignment, when a semi showed up out of nowhere. The driver was probably asleep at the wheel, and was weaving all over the place. There was no way in hell I could avoid the thing, and I ended up hitting it head-on.

"The next thing I knew, it was high noon, and I hurt like hell. I wasn't entirely rational, so I just climbed out of the car and started walking. Later, when I saw the car, I realized that the car had fallen off the mountain, the gas tank had exploded, and the car had burned to a shell, with me in it.

"I didn't realize that at the time, though. All I knew was that I was in pain, and I had to find help. I guess I wandered into the mountains eventually. The next thing I remember is finding a cabin in the middle of the woods. I tried to shout for help, but my throat wouldn't make any sounds. I was finally able to break a window and climb in that way.

"The cabin was deserted - I suppose it was a hunting lodge of some kind - and I looked around. I was able to find a mirror. Sometimes I wish I hadn't." He closed his eyes as if still feeling the pain.

"I was a mess. My skin had been charred black, and my face was completely gone. The skin was hanging from my fingers. I took a good look at myself, and fainted dead away.

"I have no idea how long I lay there. I didn't move. I didn't even breathe. I just collapsed, and wondered why I wasn't dead. I waited to die. I _wanted_ to die, because the pain was more than I could stand." He looked at Xavier wryly. "Believe it or not, the part that I _don't_ expect you to believe is coming up."

"We'll do our best to suspend our disbelief," replied Xavier.

Archetype chuckled, then continued. "Well, after a while I started losing awareness. I like to think that I was at a point between death and life, neither one nor the other." He frowned. "Before I continue, I think I should ask: are any of you familiar with the psychological principles of Carl Jung?"

"I am," Betsy replied. "When I first realized that I was a telepath, I read as much psychology as I could get my hands on."

Archetype looked at her, eyes narrowed, then continued. "Well, you may be able to explain to the others what I'm talking about, then. It should become clearer as I go along."

"I stayed on that cabin floor for several months, healing, although I didn't really know how much time was passing. When I finally came out of my trance, I was completely healed. However, my hair was about a foot longer, and I had a full beard. I was also thin as a rail, and hungrier than I'd ever been in my life. I staggered out of the cabin - I was able to unlock the door - and looked for something - anything - to eat.

"After stripping a few blackberry bushes, I ran across a buck, not five feet away from me, on the other side of a tree. Suddenly, my senses went crazy. I knew, instantly, what I had to do. I leapt out from behind that tree, jumped onto the back of that buck, grabbed him by the horns, and held on for dear life." He stopped for a moment. "I can't believe I just said that," he said to himself, rolling his eyes. Some chuckles were heard around the table.

"Anyway, after a while, the buck just got tired out. Now, this buck was huge, about three hundred pounds, while I must have weighed about eighty at the time. But I grabbed that deer by its head, and with one twist of my arms, I broke its neck.

"Then I found two rocks - two pieces of flint, and knocked them against one another. Again, I didn't know _how_, in fact, I was too hungry to care, but I knew exactly what angle to hit those rocks together to get some sharp chips of flint. I used those chips like you'd use a utility knife. I had the meat off that buck before the body was cold. I just sat there in the middle of the forest, totally naked, eating a raw deer with my hands. I had gone totally primal."

"You came out of that state eventually, I assume?" Hank asked.

"Yes. Once my belly was full, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was still hungry, but I had filled out a bit. It seemed that my body had been working overtime, converting the calories that I had eaten into pure muscle. Night had fallen while I was asleep. I was a bit more rational, and I realized that wolves would be after the carcass soon. I cut off the largest slab of meat I could carry, took my flint chips, and got back to the cabin as fast as I could.

"The previous occupants of the cabin had left a supply of firewood, so I used the flint to start a fire. Now, I had never even cooked over a charcoal grill before, so I didn't know how I knew how to start that fire, but I did it anyway. I cut off some of the meat, cooked and ate it, and went back to sleep.

"Next morning, I got a good look at myself. I was a filthy mess, covered in blood and dirt. I found a stream near the cabin, and washed up. Things started to come back to me around then, and a few minutes later, I realized that I was standing naked in the middle of nowhere. I went back to the cabin, and found some old clothes after rummaging around for a while.

"Before I got dressed, though, I realized something. Before that truck hit me, I had lived out of a fast-food bag and never exercised, so while I wasn't fat, I did have a bit of a potbelly. I was pretty flabby, actually. Now, though, I was lean and mean. I had the body of a long-distance runner. Some old scars had healed themselves, too. I couldn't explain it.

"I sat down and thought about it for a while, wondering how I knew how to do all these things. Now, this was the first time in days that I had something other than simple survival to worry about. After sitting quietly for a few minutes, I realized that I could hear voices inside my head. A _lot_ of voices."

"What are you saying?" Betsy asked.

"I think I've started to figure it out," Jean said. "It explains your code name, too. You're in contact with the collective consciousness, aren't you?"

"Yes," Archetype replied. "Either that, or I went completely insane as a result of my accident."

"That could explain why we can't read you," Xavier said.

"Possibly. There might, however, be a more mundane reason for that. Are you familiar with a neurological condition known as attention deficit disorder?"

"Yes. It's a condition found in children, usually accompanied with hyperactivity."

"There's been some new research in that area recently, Charles," Jean corrected him. "There are cases where hyperactivity isn't present, and some people carry the condition on into adulthood."

"I'm one of those lucky few," Archetype said sardonically. "The reason why you can't read me isn't due to any sort of psychic defense. My mind is like that all the time."

"Must make life interesting.," Hank remarked.

"You should get some entertainment watching me flip out around April fifteenth. It's sort of difficult to fill out a tax return for the previous year when you can't remember what you did yesterday. Well, after I demonstrate my other primary ability, I suppose that you'll want me to leave for a while, so that you can make a decision regarding my status. If you do decide to keep me around, I'll give you a few warnings about what having me here is going to be like."

"That sounds fair," Xavier agreed. "Would you demonstrate for us, please?"

"Certainly." Archetype paused for a moment. "An explanation beforehand might be in order. When I started to realize what had happened to me, I spent several months in that cabin, trying to explore the limits of my new gifts. After several acts of extreme masochism that helped determine the limits of my healing abilities, I decided to look inside my mind again.

"After ... I guess 'communing' would be the best word ... with those voices for a while, I started to see things in a different way. It's not really something that I can explain in words. I think you would have to experience it to understand it. The gist of it, though, was that I could see 'paths' all around me, going to different places, that I could step into if I so chose." He smiled for a moment. "I'm afraid that what I'm about to tell you is going to seem pretty mystical. Please bear with me."

Archetype got up, and walked over to the window. The sun was just starting to set, darkening the sky with scarlet and gold.

"The world that you know is only one of many out there."

"We're aware of that," Scott said. "We've all visited other worlds in the past."

"That wasn't quite what I meant. I'm not talking about a location in space, but a state of being, and of looking at the world. All of you walk in the daylight, touched only lightly by darkness. I've traveled to many different places, and have experienced the extremes of both light and darkness. I've been in the many shades of grey in between, and have experienced other 'shades' of being." He shook his head as he sat back down. "I'm sorry, but the dichotomy of black-and-white, good-and-evil doesn't tell the whole story. I've seen ways of viewing the world which don't have any parallel that you'd be familiar with. When I see things, I see them on many different levels at the same time."

"Just what do you mean by 'levels'?" asked Warren.

"Well, there's the level that you and I are dealing with right now, what could best be called the physical level. However, I'm also aware of other things: what might be called the dimensional level. I can 'see' the manner in which natural forces interact around me, and draw strength from those forces, making my own abilities more efficient. I can also tap on something..." He hesitated for a moment, appearing uncertain. "...I'm trying to find the right word. 'Primitive' is wrong, because it's rich and vibrant, and as important now as it's ever been. I suppose 'deep' is the best way to describe it. I can utilize those images and concepts which are buried deep within the human psyche, and draw information from them. Jung called these sources archetypes. That's how I chose my name.

"I also seem able to, in a very vague way, predict the future."

"How do you mean?" Ororo asked.

"No action takes place in a vacuum. Every action that you or I make affects the environment around us. I'm not just talking about the natural environment, either. Society, politics, and the economy are all affected by our actions. What I seem to be able to do is to look into the collective consciousness and, based upon what I see there, make extrapolations of what is going to happen in the near future. I can then make decisions based on my conclusions."

"How accurate are your predictions?" asked Bobby.

"I have a success rate of between seventy and eighty percent. Once I came down out of the mountains, I found that I was nearly broke. I had been fired from my job, and after paying off all my bills, I had about one thousand dollars to my name. After getting another job, and a few months of careful living, I built that up to five thousand dollars. I picked up a paper and a financial magazine, and started leafing through them aimlessly. Eventually, I found that certain listings caught my eye, and others gave me a bad feeling, for no reason whatsoever. I invested in the ones that made me feel good. I dropped them when I got a bad feeling about them. After following that system for a full year, I was worth quite a bit."

"Wait a minute," Warren choked out. "You mean that you became rich by randomly leafing through the financial section?"

"Yes. Disgusting, isn't it? I've kept that up for the past three years."

"How much are you worth now?" Xavier questioned him.

"I'd rather not say out loud. May I have a pencil and paper?"

"Certainly." Xavier handed him the notepad that he had been jotting his observations on. Archetype scribbled on it for a moment, and handed it back to him.

Xavier looked at it for a moment. "What's wrong, Charles?" Ororo asked him.

"He's written it in scientific notation. This will take a second." After a moment's concentration, Xavier's eyes went wide. "Good Lord!"

"What? How much is he worth?"

"Think of your Social Security number," Archetype advised her.

"All right," she replied.

"Now add two digits."

"You must be joking."

He shrugged. "It pays the bills. I'd be more than willing to act as a financial advisor for any of you."

"We're getting off the subject," Xavier interrupted, regaining his composure. "We've determined that you have a precognitive ability."

"I wouldn't call it precognition. I don't see _events_ as much as I see _trends_. My skill is highly intuitive. I can find the solution to a problem, and act upon it, without being able to articulate just how I found that solution."

"Understood. What is your other primary ability?"

"Well, it's related to my first one. I told you that I can see the 'paths' that exist all around me. I can utilize those paths to travel from place to place. When I do that, I temporarily step outside of this reality, and reenter it almost instantly. Time has little meaning for me while I'm in the process of transit. 'Teleportation' would be the best word for what I do, although it's a little inexact."

"So you're a teleporter," Jean said.

"I have some other abilities in that vein, as well. You see, once I came to certain realizations as a result of my experience, my own views of space and time changed drastically." He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and stood up. "I think that a demonstration would be the best way to explain what I'm talking about. With your permission?" he asked, looking at Xavier, who nodded.

Archetype walked over to a corner of the room, where there was a bit of space for him to move around. He held two adjacent corners of the paper, holding it in front of him.

"Imagine that the surface of the paper is the fabric of space. If you wanted to travel from one end of it to the other, it would take you quite a while. Now, when I travel, I look for another path, one in which the total distance is shorter."

"You see, the metaphor of a sheet of paper to represent space is a bit inaccurate. It encourages the view that space is an orderly place. The reality is more like this." He crumpled the paper up into a ball.

"Now, this analogy is also inaccurate, because different areas of space are either crumpling or flattening out at any given time. The forces that hold it all together are moving along with them, and are constantly interacting with one another. What I do is locate the points where these forces converge, and use them to get where I have to go."

"So you use existing congruence points in space-time, rather than creating your own," Henry said.

"Yes. Believe me, it's much harder for me to explain it than it is for me to do it. Another facet of this ability is that I can 'stretch' space-time. You see, by carrying my metaphor a bit further, the fabric of space is not made of cloth, but of elastic. I can either 'fold' or 'stretch' any distance."

"Can you demonstrate the latter?" Henry asked.

"Certainly. Please walk towards me." Henry obliged him, getting out of his chair and approaching him.

To the rest of the X-Men sitting at the table, it looked like Henry was walking in place, then running in place.

"What's happening, Hank?" Bobby asked.

"The dining room just gets longer and longer," Henry gasped.

"You can stop running now," Archetype said. "I'll return things to normal when you're still." Henry stopped, standing in place. He then sat down again.

"What about folding space?" Rogue asked him from the other side of the room.

"That's easier done--"

"--than said," he replied from directly behind her.

Rogue and the others turned abruptly, caught totally unawares.

"Is that how you showed up at the front door?" Jean asked.

"Yes."

"Are you always that fast?" Xavier asked him carefully.

"No," Archetype chuckled. "That was the Federal Express version of translocation. My usual method of travel is this."

A black rectangle, about six feet high and four feet wide, appeared beside him. A faint blue aura surrounded it. "This is what I call a Door. Original name, isn't it?"

"Where does it go to?" Rogue asked.

"Once I go through it, I'll transit back to where I was standing before." He stepped into the hole in space, and reappeared back beside Xavier.

"Is there any limit to your range?" Ororo asked.

"Not to my range, but I have to have a good idea of what there is where I'm going. If there are any solid objects in the area, things will get messy. It's actually more difficult for me to go a short distance than a long one. It takes longer to find connection points."

"Anything else about you that we should know about?" Xavier asked.

"My vision extends a bit farther into the infrared than an ordinary person's. It looks like a thermograph to me. Because of that, my night vision is excellent. I don't know if this has any bearing on anything, but before the accident, my eyes were brown. When I woke up from my recovery, they were grey, and have been ever since, and while I don't appear to have aged since then, my hair has been going silver for about a year. My hearing is a bit more acute than the ordinary. My ability to fold space-time allows me to move at what will appear to be very high speeds to an objective observer. I'm skilled in the use of most edged weapons, and I have excellent hand-to-hand combat skills."

"What about personal information?" Jean asked. "Interests and such?"

"Well, I do a lot of reading, and I'm a graduate of the Culinary Academy. I'll be more than happy to take on the role of cook if I'm accepted. I advise that you not give me responsibility of anything high-tech."

"Why's that?" Scott asked.

"I seem to have what could best be termed 'negative mechanical karma'. Electronic devices seem to act strangely whenever I'm around them for a while. I put out streetlights as I walk down the street at night, my computer never seems to work right, and light bulbs tend to burn out whenever I try to turn on a lamp. I'll keep my computer separate from whatever systems you have here, to minimize the chances of affecting your equipment.

"My connection with the collective unconscious makes me a very light sleeper. It's very rare that I'll sleep through a full night. I tend to be a night owl in any case. My interests are wide ranging, but tend not to be mainstream. I listen to almost any type of music under the sun. As a personal quirk, I seem to have total recall for pop music. I can recite almost any song that I've ever heard. Lastly, I tend to be somewhat eccentric. I guarantee you that while I may occasionally be maddening, I'm rarely boring.

"That's about it," he finished. "Any more questions?"

"Two," said Xavier. "And they're related. Why do you want to join us, and why can we use you?"

"That's pretty direct. Allll right. One: I'm a dyed-in-the-wool cynic. I don't trust the government, and I feel that, on the average, people are too unobservant to see what's going on around them. I am, however, realistic enough to realize that I can't bring about any real change if I work on my own. I need to work with people with whom I can achieve a common goal. You," he said, gesturing to the X-Men, "are the most effective catalysts for change that I have seen. Also, to be totally honest, I've been working alone for far too long. I want to be part of something bigger. Everything that I've heard about you says that you are as much a family as you are a team. That sounds like something that I'd very much like to be a part of.

"As for why you can use me, the tactical advantages spring to mind. With a teleporter, you'll be able to respond to events more quickly. The fact that I'm immortal shouldn't be ignored either. You'll be able to send me into situations where none of the rest of you would be able to survive. My skill at predicting the immediate future just might save your lives in a fight. Lastly, since your enemies tend to use ultra-high technology, my disruptive ability could prove to be a useful 'wild card' in a confrontation.

"I'll also make my financial and material resources available to all of you, for both strategic and personal reasons. I have a number of safehouses, scattered throughout the world. That might be useful if anyone gets stranded or separated from the rest of the team."

"All right, I've said my peace," he finished. "If you want, I'll leave while you make a decision."

"Just go into the sitting room," Xavier advised him. "Our discussions tend not to take very long."

"As you wish." He got up, tipped his head in acknowledgment, and left the room.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Xavier, turning back to the table.

"How did he know where we were?" Logan queried.

"I gave Val clearance to give him our location. He probably showed up at our front door to prove a point."

"What would that be?" asked Bobby.

"Think about it, kid," Logan replied. "We have some of the most advanced security technology in the world. He was able to bypass it completely, and knock on our front door. If he could do that, then he could have shown up inside, fully armed, and started shooting."

"The fact that he didn't most likely reflects his intentions more than it does his capabilities," Henry added.

"How did Val learn about this guy?" Rogue asked. "And what did she tell us about him?"

"You'd better play the disk again, Charles," Jean advised him.

"Good idea. Why don't we go down to the briefing room?" They all got up and made their way towards the elevators allowing passage to the lower levels, where the X-Men kept all of their advanced technology. As they passed by the living room, Archetype looked up from his book.

"We want to review the disk again," Xavier told him.

"Fair enough," he replied agreeably, returning to his book, pointedly ignoring the fact that Betsy sat down across from him, looking at him intently.

When they had reconvened in the briefing room, Xavier inserted the disk which Archetype had given him into a CD-ROM player, which he activated. When the prompt appeared, he typed in an encrypted password. A few seconds later, Valerie Cooper's face appeared on the screen.

"Hello, Charles," she said. "I've made this recording in order to explain just why I sent Archetype to you on such short notice.

"I think that an introduction is in order. The Committee on Superhuman Affairs is divided into several departments, each an agency in its own right. One deals with natural mutations, one with those superhumans who have gained powers through artificial means, and one with extraterrestials. It's the fourth agency that's important for the purposes of this briefing. This agency deals with events and phenomena which are best defined as 'supernatural'. It's descended from an agency which was formed during World War Two. The Third Reich was using quite a bit of magic in an effort to gain a tactical advantage, and the Allies formed an organization to counter them. Today, the agency monitors magical activity throughout the world, and makes the Committee aware of any events which could pose a threat to national security.

"Just about two years ago, I started receiving reports that magical forces were on an upswing in both the United States and Europe, reversing a decline which had been taking place since the end of the war. In almost all the cases of increased magical activity, there was a common denominator: Will Riley was present. It is not yet known at this time whether this is a result of deliberate activity on the part of Mr. Riley, or an inadvertent result of his presence.

"Mr. Riley holds citizenship in both the U.S. and the Irish Republic. He has no criminal record, and does not seem to hold to any specific political philosophy. Nothing appears out of the ordinary about him until he reappeared after vanishing for four months. He achieved tremendous financial success, making a fortune in the stock market. There were various unofficial investigations, of course, but no evidence of wrongdoing was ever found. The consensus among my people is that he's either an incredibly lucky sonofabitch, or he does possess some sort of power which allows him to foresee the immediate future, because he sold, most of the time, seconds before his holdings lost value. His timing was just too close for there to have been any sort of collusion with someone else.

The image on the screen changed to a security camera of a European city. "This footage is from a security camera at the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. Israeli security provided it at my request.

"You may recall a terrorist attack that was staged here by a an ultra-conservative Jewish group four years ago. Riley was there that day. As far as we've been able to tell, that's a coincidence. Keep an eye on the bottom left of the screen."

They saw Riley walking around, looking at the architecture, a book in his hands. A few seconds later, several men with automatic weapons came on screen and started firing into the crowd. Riley fell along with the rest of the crowd, several bullet wounds visible on his body. The terrorists fled off camera.

The clock on the monitor skipped ahead ten minutes. Riley moved slowly, staggering to his feet, covered in his own blood. He turned suddenly, as if startled by a sound, then hurried out of the room, just before medical and military personnel arrived.

Cooper's face reappeared on the screen. "I ordered my people to begin a full investigation of Riley, but to keep it low key. About three months later, I was working late in my office one night when there was a knock at my door. I assumed that it was the security guard who was doing rounds, so I told him to come in. Well, the door opens up, and in walks Riley. He sits down in front of me and just looks at me. I keep a pistol in my desk, so I took it out and pointed it at him. I know that sounds a little paranoid, but I felt pretty much the way I think you guys felt when he breezed past _your_ security. By the time I had raised my pistol high enough to get a bead on him, he had disappeared. Before I could react to that, I felt something cold against the back of my neck, and a quiet voice telling me not to move. He took my gun away and sat back down.

"He told me that he hadn't come to threaten or harm me and that I wouldn't have been able to harm him in any case. He pulled the clip out, emptied both it and the chamber, and then handed it all back to me. Then he showed me what he had just held me up with." She grimaced. "I may be the first government agent in history to be mugged with a Charleston Chew." Some giggling was heard around the table.

"He asked me why I wanted to see him. Now I hadn't given any orders to approach him yet, because we hadn't been able to determine just what his political leanings were. I asked him what had given him the impression that I wanted to speak with him, and he responded that I had been investigating him. Then he gave me the names of all of the agents who were working on his case.

"Now, I have to be sure that you all understand that during the time that we were investigating him, we were doing it from desks in Langley, totally among ourselves. We hadn't sent out a single field agent to check him out. Somehow, he knew not only what we had been doing, but the stage we were at in the investigation. I'm not ashamed to say that my jaw hit the floor.

"He told me that he had no desire to work for the government, and that he fought his own battles. He _did_ say, however, that he wanted to do some good in a manner that would allow him to do the job his way. He gave me an e-mail address and suggested that I contact him and give him the names of some... let's see, what was the phrase... 'independent agencies' who could use his talents. Then he tipped his hat to me and vanished. After I started breathing again, I got my team together, and we decided that the best way to keep him under control was to make sure that he worked with people we could trust. We decided on you, because you guys have been the most dependable of all the groups out there, and you have the best record of dealing with difficult personalities. I contacted him, and over a period of several months, we exchanged noncritical information about you. No identities were compromised, I assure you.

Yesterday, he called me and told me that he would contact you guys today. I wasn't given any preparation time, because he didn't want me trying anything funny. I barely had time to make this disk and give it to him." Val's face became very serious.

"Be careful with him, Charles. He knows a lot more than he talks about. He's sharp, he's sneaky, he's unpredictable, and I get the feeling that he's much more dangerous than he lets on. He may be one of the more powerful members that you've had. Just make sure that he doesn't blow up in your face. I'm depending on you to control him, or, if necessary, to neutralize him." The screen went blank.

"Neutralize," Bobby snorted. "The bureaucratic term for eliminate."

"We have other options at our disposal, Bobby," Xavier reminded him.

"Look, Professor, I don't want us to have another Creed hanging around here."

"Neither do I," said Jean. But I don't think he has any desire to harm us. Given what we've seen of him so far, there's been no sign of hostile intent from him."

"But you can't read him," Bobby pointed out.

"I didn't say that," she replied. "I only said that his thoughts weren't very coherent. I remember reading some articles about the condition he mentioned. A person with attention deficit disorder _would_ read the way he did to a telepath."

"Just what is attention deficit disorder, Jean?" Ororo asked.

"A neurological condition. His brain's wired a little differently than ours. He can't filter out external stimuli as well as the rest of us can." She frowned. "I doubt I'd be able to describe it properly. We'd be better off asking him and letting him describe it himself. I can get emotional impressions from him, though. Mostly, he's worried about what we'll decide."

"This isn't addressing the issue," Xavier noted. "Do we accept him among us or not?"

"He would give us certain tactical advantages," Henry mused. "Even with the Shiar backing us up, we keep getting outdone in technological sophistication. His ability could help us level the playing field. And he is right about our needing a teleporter. Most of the groups that we keep running into seem to have one as standard issue."

"Tell me about it," Logan grumbled. "Just once, I'd like to be able to follow Sinister to wherever the hell it is he disappears to."

"Also," Henry continued, "if he is a precog, then we have the advantage of knowing when something big is about to happen."

"His safehouse system could also prove useful," Betsy pointed out. "So could his financial backing, for that matter."

"I can agree with that," Xavier said. "Our activities over the past few years haven't broken the bank, but they have bent it from time to time."

"I still don't like it," Scott growled. "Something about the man rubs me wrong."

"Anything specific, Scott?" Rogue asked.

He shook his head. "No. It's just a feeling."

"You felt that way about me once, Cyke," pointed out Logan, "and I think I've turned out pretty well."

"I say we let him stay here for a few weeks, so we can get an idea of what he's like," Warren said. "After that, we can make a decision about whether or not he becomes a full member. Besides, it'll give us a chance to test his abilities."

"Any objections to Warren's plan?" Xavier asked. No one spoke. "All right, we'll give him one month. Based on his suggestion, we'll make him the cook for the school. Hank, please set up some training sessions for him. Bobby, put him in Peter's old room. He'll go on a mission only if we need every available warm body. Dismissed."

As they filed back upstairs, Rogue walked over to Xavier. "Won't he need time to move in, Professor?"

Xavier frowned. "I hadn't even thought about it."

"I'll offer to help him out."

"Thank you. While you're at it, take a good look at how he decorates his room. It could give us some insight into how he thinks."

"Spying?"

Xavier smiled slightly. "Scientific observation."


	4. Chapter 3

Archetype Chronicles Part 3

"Well," said Archetype, "where to begin?"

He and Rogue had just finished packing up and clearing out what few possessions Peter had left in the room when he had transferred his belongings to England upon joining Kitty in Excalibur. Except for a bed, desk, and dresser, the room was now bare.

"How about a few pictures on the walls?" Rogue suggested. "I don't want to make any comparisons," she amended hurriedly, "but Peter was an artist, and he lived in this room long before I joined the team. The room just doesn't seem the same without something on the walls."

Archetype tilted his head for a moment, lost in thought. "It's as good a place to start as any. I've got some _objets d'art_ in some of my other haunts. I'll go and pick a few to move here." Another hole in space formed in front of him.

"Want some help?"

"It couldn't hurt. Sure you trust me enough to risk it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, after all, you've just met me. I may be a super-villain in disguise, ready to take you to my secret base, so that I can do all sorts of unspeakable things to your lovely person." He twirled an imaginary mustache.

Rogue laughed. "Mister, I could break you in two with my bare hands."

"Yes, I know. Ms. Cooper told me that you have superhuman strength, with invulnerability as an added bonus."

"That's right. And if that didn't work, all I have to do is touch you. You'd be knocked out, and I'd absorb your memories and powers."

Archetype's face suddenly became very serious. "Miss Rogue..."

"Just Rogue."

"...I feel that I owe you a warning. This isn't meant as a threat or intimidation. It's simply a statement of fact. You do _not_ want to do that."

"Why?" she asked, curious.

"I don't think you want to see the world through my eyes." His face brightened up again. "But enough gabbing, let's get to work." He gestured towards the 'Door', bowing deeply. "After you, madam."

"Where are we going?"

"To where I was last. Ireland."

She moved towards it, then hesitated for a moment. "What exactly will happen when we go through?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment. "It will be totally dark, but you'll be able to see."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does life. Just trust me. The temperature will be whatever seems comfortable to you."

Rogue shrugged and walked in.

He was right. It _was_ dark. In fact, it was nothing _but_ a flat darkness. She looked around. Archetype was standing right behind her, and she could see a hole behind him. This hole, however, showed the room they had just left, a small patch of light piercing the blackness. "How long will that last?" she asked.

"Until I close it. I'm going to keep both ends open to make it easier for us. Once I open a Door to our destination, the two Doors will come together. It'll be like walking into another room."

"Where are we right now?"

"We're... in between."

Rogue nodded, then noticed that he was surrounded by a thin aura of light. Looking at her own outstretched hand, she found that she was glowing in the same way. "What's with the light show?" she asked.

"Life glow. You might know it as an aura. Don't worry, it's harmless. Wait one moment." He closed his eyes in concentration, and another door formed in front of them. This one led to a darkly paneled room, simply furnished. When they walked through the door, Rogue noticed the sounds of pounding surf and howling wind.

"We're on the coast?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I suggest staying inside. That storm sounds bad. Now," he said to himself, "what do I want to bring with me?"

Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, they moved a night stand, two lamps, a few framed paintings, an armoire filled with some rather stylish clothes, and five bookshelves, books and all.

"I'm glad for your help," he said to her, as he carried in a floor-length mirror. "It would have taken me a few hours to pack all these books."

"No problem," she replied, looking at the books. "Have you actually read all of these?"

"Yes, most of them more than once. You're all more than welcome to borrow any of them. I'll grab some of the books from my other places later."

"You mean there's more?"

"Quite a bit more, actually. Just let me get my computer, and that should do it. Be right back." He walked back into the Door, out of her sight.

She took a moment to look at the collection of books on the shelves. Rogue was rather well-read herself, but she had found little time for reading recently, being preoccupied with other matters. Archetype, she decided, had the most eclectic tastes in reading that she had ever seen. She found books on psychology, archeology, history, art, philosophy, sociology, and architecture, with a good amount of science fiction and fantasy novels thrown in, and an occasional bestseller among all the clutter. She was leafing through a dog-eared copy of Heinlein's _Time Enough for Love _when he returned, pushing a wheeled computer cart.

"You can keep that one if you like," he told her. "I've got another copy lying around somewhere."

"Thanks," she replied. She took another look at the bookshelves. "Aren't you a little old to be reading fairy tales?"

"You're never too old for a good fairy tale. Most of the old stories were never intended for children. What you remember from your childhood are sanitized versions of the originals. Remember what I said earlier about having walked through darkness?"

"I thought you might have been talking about those Doors of yours."

"No. I was talking about the dark parts of my soul. We all have a dark side." He gestured to his psychology books. "Jung was right on the money. He called the dark half of our being the shadow. We all have one. It's a part of our psyche that represents our base emotions, the selfishness and anger that a well-adjusted person keeps in check. We're raised to repress and ignore the shadow, not to control and recognize its power. Once you confront and accept the dark half of your soul, you can channel the tremendous creative energy that it contains. I personally think that's why most writers are so despondent. Confronting the shadow is a lot of work, but I think it's worth it. The old stories, if you look at them, deal a lot with confrontations with the shadow. By looking at them in the right way, I can gain some insight into the collective consciousness, and hopefully understand my power a bit better."

Rogue nodded. "So these stories are the originals?"

"Most of them. Either that or modern retellings."

"What else will you be bringing over?"

He frowned. "My stereo and CDs should be it. I can get them later today. By the way, when's dinner around here, generally?"

"We usually eat around seven, just after the news."

"Is there a small TV in the kitchen? I'll probably be cooking, and I don't like to miss the news."

"We have one in the wall. It also ties into the communication center down below, in case there's an emergency."

He nodded. "Good planning."

Rogue smiled. "You won't think so after you've missed a few meals. Half the time, we get called down to the War Room just as we're about to dig in. Well," she finished, "I'll let you get to work. Just come downstairs if you need any more help."

"I'll do that. I do have a question."

"What's that?"

He looked at her pointedly. "Did Xavier assign you to shadow me?"

Rogue grimaced, deciding that it wouldn't pay to alienate him on his first day among them. "He asked me to try to learn what I could about your personality."

He tilted his head slightly, seeming to think about it. Then he smiled. "Good. I'm glad to see some reasonable behavior. See you at dinner."

"Let me make sure I understand," Xavier said a few minutes later, when Rogue had reported to him and the other senior members of the X-Men. "He was _expecting_ us to spy on him?"

Rogue shrugged. "It seems that way. I wouldn't call him paranoid, but he's not exactly very trusting either."

"He did admit as much to us, Charles," Jean reminded him.

"True. Well, we'll see just what he's capable of soon enough. Hank, I want you to set up a Danger Room session for tomorrow morning for him. Use the settings that we used for Kitty's first run."

"Right."

"What else did you learn about him?" Xavier asked Rogue.

"Not much. He has books on almost anything you could think of, and paintings in a half-dozen styles of art, from fantasy prints to somebody he said was named Rossetti."

"Dante Gabriel Rossetti," Hank offered. "A nineteenth-century English artist."

"We went to what must have been one of his safehouses. I never left the place - the weather outside sounded nasty - but he said it was the on west coast of Ireland."

"You went through one of his 'Doors'?" Hank asked. At her nod, he asked, "What was it like?"

"It wasn't really like anything, Hank. He told me that when we were in that place, we were nowhere and everywhere at the same time."

"That doesn't make sense."

"According to him, neither does life."

"Anything else we should know about?" Jean asked.

"He seems to have read a lot about Jungian psychology. He has at least twenty books on the subject. He said that they've helped him understand his own power better. That's all I was able to get from him, Professor."

"That's actually not bad for our first day, Rogue. By the way," he addressed the room, "I called Val about an hour ago. 'William Riley' is not his original name."

"A false identity?" Scott asked.

Xavier looked at a sheet of paper in front of him. "No, the name change was totally legal. He changed it after he came down from his mountain. He also signed some checks under the name Liam Raghallaigh," he continued, mangling the last name.

"Can I see that, Chuck?" Logan asked. Xavier handed him the paper. Logan read it for a moment, then handed it back to Xavier. "No dice, Scott. That name's totally legal. A few years ago, I saw Sean Cassidy sign some checks to his bank in Ireland pretty weirdly, so I asked him about it. In Ireland, a person can legally have two different names: their birth name, and the Gaelic equivalent of the same name. 'Liam' is the Irish form of William. And Gaelic is a bitch to pronounce. If you give Sean a call, I'll bet you five bucks that the last name is pronounced 'Riley'."

"If there was no legal basis for the name change, then why did he do it?" Scott asked.

"Maybe the fact that he came so close to death had something to do with it," Ororo mused.

"What do you mean, Ororo?"

"I don't think that anyone who went through what he's claimed to would come out of it the same person. Maybe the name change represents a new beginning in his eyes. Or he might be trying to protect his loved ones, the way the X-Men did after we faced the Adversary."

"You could be right," Scott conceded. "We'll have to ask him later. Was there anything else he said that might be important, Rogue?"

"Well, he did give me a warning."

"Of what kind?" asked Ororo.

"He said that I don't want to try and absorb his powers. He wasn't threatening or anything like that," she assured them. "I think he really was concerned for my safety. I get the feeling that there are some very nasty aspects to his power that he hasn't told us about."

"Well, we may find out more during his Danger Room session tomorrow," Xavier said, looking at his watch. "Let's all get to dinner."

Because there was a new resident at the school, all of the X-Men ate dinner at the mansion that night, a departure from the usual _lassiz-faire_ policy for the evening meal. Betsy and Warren had teamed up for the meal that night, cooking up a large pot roast with boiled vegetables and gravy. Archetype had milled around the table aimlessly for a moment. "Is there a set seating policy here?" he asked Bobby quietly.

"No, we just sit next to the person we want to talk to for the length of the meal. Here, you can sit between me and Rogue," he said, gesturing to a chair. Archetype tipped his head in acknowledgment and sat down, nodding again to Rogue as he did so.

Xavier, who was sitting at one end of the table, tapped his fork on his glass to call for silence. "I want to be the first to welcome Mr. Riley to the mansion. While his arrival was a bit unusual, we hope that he will be able to contribute in his own way towards our dream. Mr. Riley, welcome to the school - and, perhaps, the X-Men." He raised his glass, with the rest of the table following his lead. No one noticed the frown on Scott's face as he joined the toast.

Archetype contributed little to the dinner conversation. Rogue, noticing this, decided to try and draw him out and turned towards him. "We don't take kindly to wallflowers here, mister," she said jokingly.

"What?" he said, somewhat startled. "I'm sorry, I was somewhere else. You were saying?"

"I was saying that we expect you to say something during the meal. This is a house, not a cafeteria."

"All right," he said, "Let's start with a few questions. What part of Mississippi are you from?" As he asked this last question, his voice acquired a perfect Mississippi drawl, causing both Rogue and Bobby to raise their eyebrows in surprise.

"How did you do that?" Bobby asked him.

"I can't really learn foreign languages very well," he replied, "but I'm very good at recognizing and mimicking accents. You," he said, his voice again changing, "are from Long Island, while Xavier himself is a native of the Westchester area." As he spoke, his voice changed to reflect the accent of the area he was talking about. "I can't place the origins of Storm or Wolverine yet," his voice returning to its quasi-Irish lilt, "but given time, I'll be able to mimic their accents as well."

"Is that Irish accent of yours real?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, but only because I spent the last three years in Ireland. In a few weeks, my speech will change again, probably becoming a mix of all of your accents combined. I think it's another byproduct of my power."

"Weird," Bobby said.

"Very," he agreed.

Henry, who was sitting across from him, spoke up. "Is there anything that we should know before your Danger Room session tomorrow?"

"Not that I can think of. I can assume that it's a safe bet that you won't try to kill me on my first dry run. Besides, if I think about it ahead of time, I'll screw up when the time comes to actually do the deed."

"Why do you say that?" Bobby asked.

"I'm at my best when I think on my feet. If I plan ahead, I wind up second guessing myself when the crunch comes, and the end result is usually that I wind up being paralyzed. I've found that I do better if I trust my intuition."

Henry nodded. "So you're an intuitive thinker?"

"I.N.F.P.," Archetype replied.

"Excuse me," Rogue said, "but I didn't quite catch that."

"I did," Henry told her. "I'll explain later." They all changed the subject to various small talk.

As dinner ended, Archetype offered to help Ororo and Bishop with cleaning up. As the other members broke up, Rogue tapped Henry on the shoulder. "Why was he spouting letters at you before?" she asked him.

He smiled. "He was telling me, in his own way, that he's going to be a difficult man to get to know well. Those letters are his score on a popular psychological test called the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. The test measures the type of personality that an individual has."

"So what does that score mean?"

"Well," he said, as they sat down in the living room, "I'll take it one part at a time. 'I' means that he's an introvert. As you've already noticed, that means he'll tend to be quiet and unassuming, and won't ever become a social butterfly. 'N' means, as he mentioned earlier, that he's an intuitive thinker. 'F' stands for feelings, and means that he's more likely to be interested in how things will affect people emotionally than with the bottom line. And 'P' stands for Perceiver, meaning that he sees things in relative terms, rather than in absolute categories of black and white."

"He mentioned as much earlier," she recalled. "So, how does that affect how we should treat him?"

"For now, I think it would be best if we let him set his own boundaries with us. If he wants to be involved with us on a non-professional basis, he'll say as much."

"Non-professional basis? You make it sound like this is a nine to five job."

"I have a feeling that he may hold that very view about all this for now. He just got here today, Rogue. Allow him a few days to get used to all of us. Besides, we'll all need time to get used to him."

"Well, I noticed that Scott doesn't seem to like him. Any ideas why?"

"I think that Scott's angry because he circumvented our security so easily. Sometimes he takes his job too seriously. And Scott's a very down to earth, practical individual. Archetype seems to take a more philosophical view of his power."

"Given what his power is, does he have a choice?"

"You may have a point. Did he mention anything to you about his background?"

"No, but I didn't ask, either. I don't think that I'm the person to try to look into a mysterious past."

"Because of your own background?"

She nodded affirmatively, then lay back a bit on the couch. "The X-Men have all been really good about my wanting to keep my past private. I owe him the same respect." As she spoke, she noticed Archetype starting up the main flight of stairs. "Hitting the sack early?" she asked him.

"Getting killed in the afternoon tends to tire me out by evening," he replied. "Besides, if my first training session is tomorrow, I want to be well-rested. When's reveille around here?"

"Around seven," Henry told him. "Wolverine is usually up with the sun."

"Well, I'll be up just after five, so I can get a run in. I'll see about breakfast when I'm done. Good night, all." He continued up the stairs.

"Good night," they both echoed after him.

"Well, he had a busy first day," Henry observed.

"No argument there," Rogue replied. "You think he'll fit in here?"

"I don't know, but it'll be interesting finding out."

As Archetype undressed for bed, he noticed that the moon was just rising in the sky. He gazed at it for a moment, turned out the light, then bowed his head slightly, whispering to himself for a moment. His words were inaudible, but the last few words sounded like "At the end of desire." He climbed under the bed sheets, then looked at the moon again.

"Not a bad start," he said to himself. "We'll see how it goes from here. Good night, mother." He then fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Archetype Chronicles Part 4

Rogue was not usually an early riser, but the previous night had been warm, and she had opened her window and curtains before going to bed. The temperature had dropped considerably during the night, and she woke up shivering to find that the sun was rising. She was still half-asleep, and held an argument with herself for a moment about whether the effort of getting up to shut the window was really worth it. The desire for warmth held out against the desire for sleep, and so she got up and staggered to the window.

Rogue's window faced the southwest, giving her a good view of Spuyten Dyvil Cove in the distance. The cove was shrouded in mist; the sun had not yet burned away the night's precipitation. She was about to close the drapes and head back to bed for another hour or so of sleep when she noticed a shape moving rapidly along the small peninsula which jutted out into Breakstone Lake. The shape was moving towards the mansion at a good clip.

Rogue quickly shook off her sleepiness; she didn't want to alarm anyone else in the mansion just yet. A few months back, Jubilee had caused a major security panic when she had, while still half-asleep, mistaken a flock of migrating geese for a formation of incoming aircraft. Rogue had a low level of toleration for embarrassment, so she decided to get a closer look before sounding an alert. Rummaging through her closet, she found the binoculars that she sometimes carried with her when she went flying. She then turned back to the window, finding that the shape had moved considerably past the cove, and was nearing the docks. She held up the binoculars and focused on the shape in the distance.

It was Archetype, running at an incredibly rapid speed. Rogue had seen some fast sprinters before, but the only person she had met who moved faster than what she was seeing now was Pietro Maximoff, who was currently working under the name Quicksilver with X-Factor. As she watched, Archetype reached the docks, and moved back towards the mansion.

Rogue, for some reason, felt guilty about watching him. She quickly closed the curtains, and peeked through the space between them. As she observed, Archetype reached the patio at the back of the mansion, and stopped just before it, jogging in place for a few minutes, presumably to cool down. He stood there for a moment, bent over slightly, panting.

As he stood still for a moment, Rogue debated whether or not to reveal her presence to him in some way, finally deciding that some covert observation would be in line with Xavier's instructions to try to gain insight into the personality of the new arrival.

After he had caught his breath, Archetype stood up straight and removed the T-shirt that he had been wearing. Rogue had to suppress a gasp. His back was covered with scars. White tissue crossed his pink skin in a half-dozen different directions.

As she watched, he hopped up the steps of the patio, and went to an oblong box which lay on one of the benches. He threw the shirt onto the bench, and opened the box, removing a sheathed broadsword. He removed the sword from its scabbard, creating a resonant sound.

Through her long association with Logan, Rogue was familiar with most types of Oriental weaponry. The sword which Archetype carried was European in style, double edged, and about a meter long. The stance which he took however, was a classic pose in kendo. She watched him perform several katas, moving soundlessly, seemingly in perfect balance. The sword whistled through the air, making a somewhat chilling sound. The expression on his face was one of complete concentration, shutting out all distraction.

As he finished the maneuvers, he removed a cloth from the case, wiping the blade clean. He then sheathed the sword, placing it back in its box. He picked up the shirt and box, and went into the mansion.

Rogue decided that since she was already up, she might as well face the day. She took her morning shower, then put on a light blouse, jeans, sneakers, and her ubiquitous gloves. Looking at the clock, she saw that she had taken about half an hour. The others would start heading down for breakfast soon, so she decided to get a head start on them. She left her room, heading down to the kitchen.

Where she found Archetype reading the morning paper.

"Morning," he greeted her. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Um, good morning," she replied. "Did you already eat?"

"No, I'm waiting for the water to boil. I was going to poach some eggs, but there's pancake batter in the refrigerator, and the sausage and bacon is being kept warm in the oven. The coffee is brewing, and should be ready in about two minutes."

"I think I'll just have eggs, too. Can I have two poached?"

"No problem." He took off his glasses, got up, walked over to the range, and put on a chef's apron. Three minutes later, Rogue was busily eating eggs and sausage, while Archetype cooked his own breakfast. "Are you always up this early?" she asked.

"I tend to get my sleep in bits and pieces throughout the day. I actually sleep a bit longer than most people, but it's all divided up into two hours here, a half-hour there. I'm usually up before sunrise. How did you like my performance this morning?"

Rogue choked slightly on her orange juice at that, quickly regaining her composure. "How did you know I was watching you?" she asked him.

"My vision extends into the infrared, remember? I saw your heat signature through the window."

"Oh." She resumed eating. "Are you done with the paper?"

"Yes." He took his eggs out of the water, then sat down to eat. "What's the usual schedule around here, barring an emergency?"

"Well, training sessions are scheduled throughout the morning, and most of us take the early afternoon off. That's when we get any business in town or in our private lives done. We review our information files for the day from three to five, eat around seven, and hit bed around ten or eleven. As long as we don't bother anyone else or miss our training and duty time, we pretty much can come and go as we please. If you want a leave of absence, you ask the Professor."

He nodded. "All right. I'll keep that in mind. Good morning, Miss Munroe," he said, as Ororo appeared in the doorway leading to the front hall, clad in one of her dashikis.

"Good morning. Have you two been up long?"

"I just came down," Rogue replied.

"And I've been up for a while," Archetype added. "Would you like some pancakes?"

"Yes, please."

Archetype pulled a large bowl of pancake batter from the refrigerator, and started pouring some into the greased pan. While the pancakes were cooking, he took a small pitcher from the cabinet, filled it with maple syrup, and placed it in the pot of boiling water where he had poached the eggs earlier.

"Will breakfast be like this every morning, or are you trying to bribe us into accepting you?" Ororo teased him.

"To be honest, a little bit of both," he admitted with a wry smile. "The truth of the matter is that I love to cook, and it's been a long time since I've done it for anyone but myself. I'd forgotten how enjoyable it was." He flipped the pancakes, glancing over at Rogue. "Will the others be coming down soon?"

"Yep," she replied. "The main wave should be down any minute."

"Would you be kind enough to take the bacon and sausage out of the oven, then?"

"No problem." As she did so, Bobby and Logan came down. "What's with the spread?" Logan asked.

"I'm lulling you into a false sense of security," Archetype replied.

"Will we eat like this every day while you're doing the cooking?" Bobby asked.

"I suppose I could arrange it."

"Consider me lulled. Somebody pass the pancakes."

"How about you?" Archetype asked Logan.

"Can you manage a Texas one-eye stack?"

"Coming right up." As he placed another pan on the range, Warren came in. "What is this, _The Frugal Gourmet?_"

"I have a bit more hair than he does," Archetype replied. "Sit on down and dig in."

"What's a Texas one-eye stack?" Ororo asked Logan.

"A stack of flapjacks with a sunny-side-up egg on top."

"Sounds good," Bobby observed.

"Haven't had one in a long time. Last time was during the road trip I took with Alex."

"Alex?" Archetype asked, with a puzzled look. "Have I met him?"

"He's not based at the mansion anymore," Betsy supplied as she walked in, dressed in a dark blue robe.

"Ah. Onward and upward?"

"He works for the government," Ororo supplied.

"A government operative? Val never mentioned him."

"There are several things about us that Val did not mention," Xavier said from the doorway.

"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Bishop yawned as he came in..

"I'm not quite here yet," Henry said sleepily from behind Xavier. "Let me get some coffee into me first."

"Any final requests for breakfast before I close up shop?"

"No sir," said Henry, "I shall be more than happy with the banquet which has been laid before me."

"Thank you, Doctor McCoy," Archetype said, bowing slightly.

"Are you ready for your Danger Room session today?" Xavier asked him.

"As ready as I suppose I can be. What time will it be?"

"You're scheduled for ten. We're setting your session at a low level of difficulty. You'll be perfectly safe."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that, Charles." Everyone turned to see Scott and Jean enter the kitchen. "The man _is_ immortal, after all. What could happen?"

"Quite a bit could happen, Mister Summers," Archetype replied. "It's true that I have not yet been in a situation where I have been permanently injured. However, I would say that it's a safe bet that you will be able to find many more imaginative ways of snuffing out my brief candle than I can even think of. Part of my reason for being here is to determine just what my limits are, because I could wind up being very dangerous if my other abilities go haywire while I'm injured. If anything happens to me that is beyond the scope of my ability to repair within a reasonable period of time, you have facilities here that can sustain me while I continue to heal, and, more importantly, three telepaths who can suppress my abilities during that time." He took off the apron, hanging it on a hook on the wall. "Well, I'm going back to my room for a while. I want to meditate for a bit. Hopefully, I can get a bit more focused before my session." He started towards the stairs, then stopped, returning to the table. "Forgot my glasses," he said, picking them up. He went back through the doorway, then stopped in mid stride, turning back towards them again. "I just realized that I have absolutely no idea where this 'Danger Room' is," he said sheepishly.

Xavier smiled at that. "We'll have somebody take you there."

"Thank you." He turned around again and walked out of sight.

"We're going to have to get used to that, I'm afraid," Henry said ruefully.

"Get used to what?" Logan asked him.

"Because of his condition, he has to deal with a lot more information at any given time than an ordinary person would. He acts on his intuition, because he almost never has a full picture of the situation. He'll tend to forget things easily, too. We might want to consider factoring in extra training time with that it mind. Redundancy would be a big help."

"Well, we have enough time to get Scott's session in beforehand," said Xavier. "Let's get moving, everyone."

Warren knocked on the door to Archetype's room at a quarter to ten. When he received no answer, he went in, and stopped quickly, doing a double take.

The room had been totally redecorated. Filled bookshelves lined all free wall space, and a huge roll top desk was in one corner, joined with an overstuffed swivel chair. A full-length mirror was standing near the desk. An art-deco lamp stood beside the computer desk which had been placed in the opposite corner. As he walked in, Warren almost stumbled into the coat rack which had been placed beside the door.

Archetype lay on the bed, which had been moved to the only open wall space left in the room. He was flat on his back, dressed in a dark blue sweat suit, with his eyes closed. _He's probably resting up,_ Warren thought. He walked to the side of the bed, placing his hand on Archetype's shoulder to shake him awake.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, the air had been pushed out from his lungs, and Archetype was looming over him, his right hand clawed like a hook just inches from Warren's throat.

A look of chagrin crossed Archetype's face, and he released his hold on Warren. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little tense about this test." He helped Warren up, and dusted him off. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. How do you move so fast?"

"Some of my abilities are subconscious. When I felt your hand on me, I went into overdrive. Instead of compressing distance, I was compressing time. Come on. I suppose that the others are waiting." He put on a pair of gloves that were lying on the night stand.

As they walked to the elevator, Warren asked "Can you move backwards in time?"

Archetype shook his head. "No. And compressing time is a bit of a strain. I can't do it for very long, only enough to make some sort of defensive move. It's not something that I'd want to be dependent on in a pinch." He paused for a moment. "Can you give me any suggestions that might prove useful for this?"

"Not really. I wasn't involved with designing the session. That was between Hank and the Professor. All I can tell you is to be careful."

"Thanks for the advice," Archetype said dryly, as the elevator stopped and the doors opened to the second sub-basement level of the mansion complex. As they exited, Archetype gaped at the Shiar-based technology which filled the room, ranging from holographic displays to weapons systems. "I'm not even going to ask where this all came from," he said. "I don't think I'd be able to handle the answer."

"Follow me," Warren said as they entered the control room area of the Danger Room. Jean, Ororo, Logan, and Henry were busily monitoring Scott, who was down in the Danger Room proper, firing his optic blasts at a series of moving targets. Archetype looked down through the control room window at Scott. "Very impressive," he noted.

"The technology or the man?" Jean asked him.

"Both," he answered. "I will, however, admit to being biased towards the human element." As he spoke, Scott fired a blast through a set of three rings, arrayed in a straight line, which were each rotating at a different rate. The blast went through the openings in the rings cleanly, without hitting the rings themselves.

"Amazing," Archetype marveled. "His ability to predict spatial location is phenomenal."

"That's it, Scott," Xavier spoke into a microphone. Scott nodded and entered a doorway directly beneath them. A few seconds later, he walked through a set of elevator doors adjacent to the control room. "How'd I do?" he asked Logan.

"Totally clean."

"Good. Are you ready?" he asked Archetype.

"As ready as I suppose I can be."

"All right," Xavier said. "The object of this exercise is to reach and press the red control button which will be directly in front of you. Doing so will open the door which will let you out."

"And the room will do whatever it can to stop me, I suppose."

"Correct."

"Will a weapon be required for this exercise?"

Xavier looked doubtful for a moment. "Nothing at this setting can truly hurt you, but if you feel more comfortable being armed, I have no objection."

"To be honest, I feel undressed when I'm unarmed."

"Will you be using that pig-sticker you were using this morning?" Logan asked him.

"That would be my preferred weapon, yes."

"We can wait a few minutes while you get it," Xavier told him.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." Archetype's brow furrowed in concentration for a moment, and the box that Rogue had seen him with earlier appeared on the floor in front of him. He opened it, removing the sheathed sword that he had used earlier, . He made some adjustments to the strap of the scabbard, and slung the sword over his back so that the hilt of the sword was behind his right shoulder. He looked at Xavier again. "All I need to do is press the button, right?"

"Right. As soon as the elevator door opens, the exercise will begin. You will be timed."

"All right." He stepped into the elevator. Xavier pressed a button, and the elevator began its descent.

"Think he'll try the same stunt that Kitty pulled?" Logan asked the room.

"We've seen no evidence that he can become intangible," Xavier replied. "I doubt that he can."

"_All set,_" said Archetype's voice from the intercom. He could be seen in the monitor which displayed the security view of the elevator.

"The test will begin in five seconds... three... two... _one._" The door to the Danger Room opened.

Archetype saw the button in front of him. _One_.

He moved his arm forward. _Two_.

The button registered as being triggered. _Three_.

Jean looked up from her monitor, stunned. "He's done."

The others all looked at her. "_What?_" they said in unison.

"He triggered the button." They looked at her monitor. She was right - the computer registered the scenario as over. They heard Archetype's voice over the intercom:

_"Next!"_

"I don't get it," Scott said. "How did you get through that so quickly?"

"Do we have a recording of the session?" Archetype asked. They had all moved to the de-briefing room, after a few arguments from Scott that there _had_ to be something wrong with the program.

Xavier typed a command into the interface which linked the room with the Danger Room computer. "Coming up now."

They all saw, on the opposite wall, an image of the Danger Room as seen from the top. "Can you modify the image so that our point of view is parallel to the wall which I was facing?" Archetype asked.

Xavier nodded. "Wait one moment." The perspective of the wall shifted suddenly, showing the entrance at the top of the screen, on its side, and the trigger button on the bottom.

"Now play the recording," Archetype instructed. "Look at the bottom of the screen."

There was nothing for two seconds. Then there was a flash of black, and the button was depressed. "What was that shadow?" asked Warren.

"Get a close up on that image," Archetype continued, "and, if you can, show me in the elevator at the same time." Xavier typed at the keyboard for a few moments, and the wall became a split screen, showing the view of the Danger Room on the left, and of Archetype in the elevator on the right.

"Now rewind both images back and replay at slow motion."

"What speed?" asked Xavier.

"One-tenth should do it."

"All right. Playing at one-tenth speed." The image of the Danger Room remained static. After about seven seconds, however, Archetype's figure accelerated to a normal rate of speed. After fifteen seconds, one of his Doors appeared about fifteen inches in front of him. Another one appeared about three inches in front of the trigger button. It took around three seconds for Archetype to start moving his arm into the doorway in front of him. His hand disappeared into the door, reappearing at the same instant, and at the same rate of movement, as it came out of the doorway in front of the button. By twenty-four seconds, his hand had depressed the button, and he had removed his hand from the doorways by twenty-eight seconds. By thirty seconds, both doorways were closed.

"Any questions?" asked Archetype.

"How'd you move so quickly?" Logan queried.

"I folded space-time."

"Your reactions were accelerated as well." Henry said.

"Yes. When I place myself in a faster time rate, all my metabolic and mental functions are increased. That allows me time to plan my actions."

"How does that affect you physically?" Jean asked him.

"Well, I put on the gloves for a reason. If I hadn't been wearing them, my hand would have windburn."

"You'd heal from that, though," Scott pointed out.

"True, but why hurt myself when I don't have to? If we were in a combat situation, I'd wear the gloves, if for no other reason than to avoid being distracted by pain."

"What about your face?"

"Doesn't seem to be as susceptible to damage for some reason. I have no idea why."

"Can you do that while holding another person?" Xavier asked him.

"I can't give you an answer, because I've never tried it. If I were to test that, I think it would have to be with someone who couldn't get hurt anyway. If I were to try to move Mr. Drake in that manner, for example, I might melt him. And it would have to be someone that I could lift physically, which would place most of the male members of the team out of contention. I can't lift something and move it at accelerated speed at the same time."

"Maybe a weightlifting program would help in that department," Logan told him. "I can get you started on one today."

"Sounds reasonable," Archetype replied. "It might be best if we fit it into the afternoon, though. I do my daily run in the morning, and I'll need time to recover my strength."

"That raises a question," Xavier pointed out. "Rogue told me about your run this morning. Was what she was seeing your maximum speed?"

"Not even close," he replied. "That was what could best be termed my cruising speed. I haven't really been able to clock myself with any accuracy. When I compress distance, time becomes a little skewed for me. Everything moves in slow motion, and by the time I approach normal time again, enough time has passed that I can't get a proper reading. Maybe you guys have something that can overcome the problem."

"We'll set up an electric eye, and have you do a full circuit of the mansion grounds," Henry assured him. "Just be careful when you're near the gate."

Archetype nodded. "I'm aware that by most rights, I cheated. I'd like to go through that session again, using only my physical abilities this time, so you can see just what my combat abilities will be like. I'm aware of my weaknesses in combat, and I'd like to work on them."

Xavier nodded. "Fair enough. If you'll head down again, we'll restart the sequence." Archetype got up, and headed through the door back to the elevator. A few minutes later, Xavier was counting down to one again.

When the door opened this time, Archetype came out very slowly, looking warily at everything around him. He took one step forward, and slowly came out of the elevator, standing where the edge of the elevator met the floor.

"This run is a modification of the one Kitty did, right, Chuck?" Logan asked.

"Yes. I saw no reason to intensify the danger level for a trial run. I've switched a few things around, but it's basically the same program."

They continued to watch as Archetype continued walking farther into the Danger Room. "He'll hit the coils first," Xavier told the others. As if on cue, two steel coils, tipped with prehensile 'fingers', emerged from the walls on either side of Archetype and moved towards him. Before they reached him, however, he drew his sword with a quick motion and sliced off the top three feet of each coil. He then continued to move forward, safely out of the reach of the severed coils, which continued to flail uselessly in the air.

"That went well," Logan said with a grimace.

"We'll see how he does with the muffins," Henry replied.

"The muffins" was a nickname that Kitty had given to the barrage of dense foam cushions which flew out from the wall. Before he reached the trigger panel for the sequence, however, Archetype stopped and cocked his head, as if listening for something. He then sheathed his sword, unbuckled the scabbard, and then lay on his stomach, placing the scabbard on top of his arms. He splayed his arms out on either side of him, and pushed himself along the floor. When he did set off the trigger to the muffins, they passed harmlessly above him, with a margin of about six inches to spare. He continued to stay on the floor.

"He's using a standard low crawl," Logan remarked.

"I noticed," Xavier replied. "If he keeps moving like that, he'll avoid the sandwich." The sandwich, another term coined by Kitty, referred to the twin pile drivers, coated with padding, which emerged from their holographic hiding places in the walls and barreled towards Archetype, missing him just as the muffins had. He did, however, have a bit of difficulty moving beneath the padding, since he had only a few centimeters in which to maneuver. He wriggled out from underneath the padding, stretching somewhat when he stood up. He strode towards the door confidently.

"He's not noticing the trapdoor," Scott said, with a smile in his voice. "He won't make it."

About two feet from the trapdoor, however, Archetype stopped suddenly, as if reacting to a loud sound. As he did so, both Jean and Xavier made a similar reaction. They looked at one another. "Did you hear that too?" she asked him.

"Yes," he replied. "Do you have any idea what it was?"

"No," she replied, "but it was _big_." They returned their attention to the scene before them. Archetype looked at the door for a few seconds, then drew his sword again. He held the hilt in both hands so that the blade was pointed downward, raised it above his head, then jammed it about eighteen inches into the floor. He then stepped back about one meter, took one bouncy step, then leaped onto the hilt of the sword, keeping one foot balanced on the crosspiece as he continued forward, falling towards the wall. He slammed both hands against the wall, stopping his momentum. He then struck his hand against the trigger button. He rolled into a ball as the door opened, tumbling into the elevator.

Henry raised an eyebrow. "What was his time?"

"Just under four minutes," Logan replied.

"Still a very respectable time for a neophyte," Henry concluded. "For someone who hasn't received any formal training, he did very well." As he finished, Archetype came out of the elevator.

"Just what the devil was that noise?" Xavier asked him before he was out of the elevator.

Archetype looked shocked. "You mean you heard it, too?"

"Psionically, you made as much noise as a thunderclap," Jean informed him. "What was all that about?"

He shrugged. "It pretty much added up to one word. _No_. Like I told you last night, I tend to be an intuitive thinker. I sometimes get flashes of insight, telling me whether something is a good idea or not. I was about to step onto that plate when I realized that what I was about to do was incredibly stupid. What was on that thing, anyway?"

"A trapdoor," Henry answered. "You would have fallen into a holding cell below."

Archetype looked thoughtful for a moment. "That does make a bit of sense."

"You just lost me," Scott told him. "_What_ makes a bit of sense?"

"I've developed a few theories regarding my abilities. I'm still working my way through them. I'd rather not discuss them until I've had some more time to think about it." He looked at Xavier. "Maybe some practice in learning how to make my abilities quieter is in order. If I made as much noise as you say I did, that could be a liability during an operation."

"We'll fit it in," Xavier assured him. "Why don't you go wash up?"

"I'd be glad to," he replied, "just as soon as someone directs me to the showers."

"I'll do it," Warren offered. He and Archetype left the room.

"Well?" Xavier asked when Warren had rejoined them in the de-briefing room, next door to the Danger Room control area.

"Well what?" Warren replied.

"It was meant as a question for everyone, Warren," Xavier told him. "What did you all think of his performance?"

"He's never received any military training?" Scott asked.

"Not as far as Val could tell, and she has some of the best sources on the planet."

"Of all the weapons he could use, why a sword?" Jean asked.

"Probably because swords have been used for thousands of years. Guns have only been in use for about five hundred. If he draws on the collective conscious for his abilities, he has a greater pool of knowledge and experience to draw from if he uses an older weapon."

"Makes sense," Logan grumbled. "We'll have to train him on a firearm ourselves, then. I'll take care of that, along with the weightlifting program."

"While Jean and I take care of helping him find some way to reduce the amount of psychic noise he creates," Xavier said. "I wonder what kind of defenses he has."

"The fact that he's so difficult to scan could be considered a defense in itself," Jean mused. "That's only a passive defense, though. We'll have to work on active ones. What's he doing now, Warren?"

"He's back down there," he replied. "He wanted to get some of his own training time in, so I set up a pile of breaking blocks for him. I left him alone. He doesn't seem to be used to working with an audience."

"Well, we don't have to disturb him," Xavier said. He typed on the keyboard, and the wall showed an image of the Danger Room again. Archetype was setting up a stack of seven concrete blocks in front of him. He stood still for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he took a step forward, inhaled deeply, and struck swiftly, breaking all seven blocks. There was a slight flickering of the screen as he did so, like a burst of static.

"Nice form," Logan remarked. "What's with the scars?"

"Rogue had noticed them earlier," Xavier said. "They look like burn scars."

"Remnants of his injury, maybe?" Warren suggested.

"Could be," Henry said. "There's something I wanted to mention to you, Charles. He indicated to me earlier that he's very shy. I doubt we're going to get much from him in a formal briefing."

"Maybe," Xavier admitted. "It may be a good idea for some of us to talk with him outside the mansion." He tapped the intercom button on the panel. "Rogue?"

_"Yes, Professor?"_ her voice answered.

"Would you and Robert be opposed to taking Archetype out for dinner tonight?"

_"No problem,"_ she replied. _"Any agenda in mind?"_

"Just see if you can get him to open up a bit. The more we know about his personality, the more we'll be able to help him learn about his abilities, since they seem to be mental in nature."

_"All right. We'll take him out to the usual place for the traditional X-Men welcoming feast. See you later."_

Xavier looked confused for a moment. "The usual place?"

The others looked at one another with a twinkle in their eyes, then back at Xavier.

"Harry's," they said in unison.


	6. Chapter 6

Archetype Chronicles Part 5

Rogue knocked lightly on the door to Peter's - no, _Archetype's_ room. She cursed silently, reminding herself that Peter was no longer the occupant. "Come in," she heard from the other side. She opened the door and went through.

Archetype was seated at his computer, busily typing away. He glanced up at her. "Hello, Rogue," he said politely, taking off his glasses.

She looked at him. "Why don't you wear contacts?"

"What, and ruin my secret identity?" He smiled at her chuckle.

"What are you writing?" she asked him.

"Something I've been working on for a while now. It can wait. What's up?"

"We're taking you out to eat. It's an X-Men tradition."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"Harry's Hideaway. It's been the X-Men's watering hole for years."

He nodded. "All right. Give me a few minutes to get changed." He reached behind the desk, pulling out a straight cane, which he leaned on as he got out of the chair.

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked him.

"It's an old injury," he said. "Sometimes it acts up. I think I strained it during my Danger Room session earlier. I'll be fine," he assured her. "Be down in a few minutes." She nodded and left, meeting Bobby at the front door.

"What's keeping him?" Bobby asked.

"He wanted to get changed." She had already changed into a matching skirt and blouse, both in her trademark green. Bobby wore a turtleneck and jeans.

He nodded. "What was he doing?"

"Working on his computer. He settled in pretty quickly."

"Home is where you hang your hat, Rogue," she heard behind her. She turned around to find Archetype stepping out from behind the staircase.

"How'd you get down here so fast?" Bobby asked.

He shrugged. "The elevator." He had changed into a pair of light blue jeans, with a grey shirt and black denim vest. He also wore gloves, and was still leaning on his cane. The overall effect was to make him look older. "Are we all ready?"

"All set," Bobby replied.

"Let's go, then." He reached out at the air in front of him, and his jacket appeared in his hand. He put it on, opened the door, and motioned for Rogue to go first. She smiled and walked out, Bobby and Archetype following in turn.

As she and Bobby headed towards the garage, Archetype spoke up. "Um, excuse me, but isn't the road that way?" he said, pointing with his cane.

"Yeah, but the garage is this way," Bobby said.

"True, but I passed Harry's when I walked here before. It's only about three kilos away. Why drive?"

"Because it's three kilos away," Bobby replied.

"Let me get this straight," Archetype said, leaning on his cane. "You spend three hours a day in physical training, and you're all built like fitness ads, but you won't walk an easy three kilos? Why spend all that time in the gym, when the real world has enough physical challenges for you?"

"He's got a point, Bobby," Rogue said. "Besides, it's a nice night. Let's walk."

"All right," Bobby sighed. He joined them on the road which led to Graymalkin Lane. They made good time, Rogue realized, since Archetype, even with the cane, moved at a brisk pace.

"Your leg seems to be feeling better," she remarked.

"It improves if I walk it off," he replied. He looked at Bobby. "I can shorten the trip if you want."

"How?"

"The same way I got here yesterday. I'll fold space-time."

"Is it safe?"

"Totally. It'll look a little strange, though."

"Just what do you mean by strange?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

He frowned for a moment. "Ever watch a car as it came towards you?" When they nodded, he continued. "Did you notice that, if the car was moving fast, it seemed to flatten out slightly?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied doubtfully.

"Well, everything's going to look like that for the next few minutes. Well," he amended, "everything but us."

"How long will it take us to get there, then?" Rogue asked him.

"About ten minutes," he said. "I won't compress things too much."

"All right," Bobby said, "let's get moving, then."

"Just one moment, Mister Drake." Archetype furrowed his brow for a second, and everything seemed to dim. "We're ready now." He started walking towards Graymalkin Lane, which seemed to be approaching very quickly as they followed him.

"Will anybody see us?" Rogue asked him.

"No," he replied. "We're appearing in normal space, but for only a fraction of an instant at any given time, faster than the time which the brain needs to process new information. No one will notice us. I'll put us back in normal space somewhere where we won't be noticed for a moment, so people will think we had just walked in." By the time he had finished his sentence, they were on Graymalkin Lane and heading towards town.

"Have you ever had any problem with the people in town?" he asked them.

"Nothing we haven't been able to handle," Bobby replied. "We're far enough away to keep the curious away, but we show up often enough to remind them that we're still around. We've never been in any trouble, if that's what you mean."

He nodded. "I just wanted to know if there was anything I should be aware of. Should I simply say that I'm a resident at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning if asked?"

"That should work," Rogue said. "If it doesn't, you can just fake a really strong accent, and make like a lost foreigner."

"Sounds fair. This the place?" he asked as they approached Harry's.

"That's it," she confirmed.

"Let me put us back in normal space. Let's go over there," he said, pointing towards an area of the parking lot that was only dimly lighted. They entered the shadows, and Archetype closed his eyes for a moment. The light around them became slightly brighter. "We're _baaack_," he said in an eerie voice.

"Cute," Bobby said dryly.

"I rather liked it," Archetype replied brightly as they went inside.

Harry's was rather crowded for a weeknight. The reason why was evident, as the band on the stage was being met with cheers and applause. Archetype winced slightly as he removed his jacket. "Something wrong?" Rogue asked him.

"My hearing is pretty sensitive. That's a bit too loud for my comfort."

"The booths over there are quieter," she said, pointing to the opposite corner of the taproom.

"Why don't we go over there, then?" They found a booth where the noise level was considerably lower. "What's on the menu here?" he asked.

"It's a pretty standard grill menu," Bobby replied. "The waitress will tell us what tonight's specials are." A few minutes later, they put in their orders. Bobby and Rogue ordered their usuals, while Archetype ordered potato skins and a mushroom cheeseburger with a cola.

"You don't drink?" Bobby asked him. He and Rogue were sharing a pitcher of beer.

Archetype shook his head. "It's hard enough for me to maintain my concentration when I'm sober. I don't need intoxication added to the mix. In any case, I never acquired a taste for alcohol."

Bobby smiled. "That should frustrate Wolvie's plans for male bonding."

Archetype smirked. "And I hate most organized sports."

"Oh boy, you're gonna be in real trouble with him, then. He goes nuts around Super Bowl time."

"Oh, I'll just stay in the kitchen and make snacks for everybody. That should get me off the hook."

"So what do you do for hobbies?" Rogue asked him.

"Well, like I told you earlier, I do a lot of reading. I also do some writing on the side. I do a lot of traveling..."

"Your way or the usual way?" Bobby interrupted.

"The usual way. I'll decide on the spur of the moment to go somewhere and then I usually just go to the airport and take whatever the next available international flight is. I play it by ear from there. When I get sick of living out of a suitcase, I go to my nearest safehouse and rest up."

"If you're so rich, why not just take a private plane?" Rogue asked him.

"Calls too much attention. Besides, I prefer not to throw my money around if I can help it. I like to just go with the flow." He stopped talking as the waitress returned with their orders. "Either of you want one?" he said, gesturing to the potato skins. Rogue and Bobby took one each. Archetype put some steak sauce on his burger and dug in.

"Well, enough about me," he said. "How about I learn something about you two?"

"Like what?" Bobby asked.

He shrugged. "I know why I'm here. Why did you two join this outfit?"

That question prompted a discussion about the history of the X-Men. Archetype seemed to accept most of it, although he looked a bit disbelieving at certain points.

"Let me make sure I understand this," he asked Rogue. "You really _did_ die that night in Dallas?"

"All the X-Men that were there did," she informed him.

"I'll take your word for it," he said dubiously. Then he raised an eyebrow. "I must say, though, that you're the most voluptuous corpse that I've seen in some time." Then he winced.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked him.

"That lead guitar. It's so out of tune it's pathetic. I'll be right back." He got up and walked over to the stage, where the band was taking its break.

"Well, he's certainly a flirt," Bobby said to Rogue after he was out of earshot.

"Yeah, but it's a nice sort of flirting," she replied with a smile.

"There's an explanation for that, I suppose."

Rogue thought for a moment. "There are two ways that a guy can flirt with a girl. They sort of reflect the approach that he wants to take with her. The first way is more common - the old lines, the obvious ploys - and a girl can spot them a mile away, because she's seen them all before." She paused for a moment. "I think that the other way, being a nice flirt, means walking a very fine line. You have to compliment a woman's looks without making her feel that they're the only reason you're interested in her."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You think he's interested?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. But he doesn't seem to mind using the compliments anyway. They seem to let him fill up the space in a conversation. You _did_ see how nervous he was looking?"

He nodded. "I don't think he's looking out for anybody. He told us himself that he's worked alone for a long time. I don't think he's used to dealing with large numbers of people. You said that he considers himself an introvert."

"That's true," she conceded. "And Jean and Betsy have had problems in crowds before. If his powers are psychic, maybe he has a similar problem."

"Could be." He nodded towards Archetype, who was talking with the guitarist of the band as he tuned the offending instrument. "Did you get any clue as to the music he prefers?"

She shook her head. "No. He seems like an oldies type, though. Looks like he convinced the band to let him play a set." She had noticed that he was getting on the stage with the rest of the band.

"What do you think? Beatles? Stones?"

Archetype played the opening riff. Rogue and Bobby looked at each other.

_"Metallica?"_

"Why didn't you tell us you could play an instrument?" Bobby asked him as they walked out of Harry's about an hour later.

Archetype shrugged. "There wasn't any room on the application. Besides, I didn't really think it had any practical use for the sorts of things that you guys do. What would I use it for? Serenading the Juggernaut to sleep? Getting the female supervillans to start swooning and fainting?" He snapped his fingers. "I've _got_ it! You guys need _theme music!_"

"You, my friend, are out of your mind," Bobby informed him.

"Oh, we're all mad here," he replied gleefully. "I'm mad, you're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" Rogue replied, remembering the lines from _Alice in Wonderland._

"You must be," Archetype said, "or you wouldn't have come here."

"You got that right, asshole," said a voice behind them. They turned around to find four young men, who appeared to be in their late teens, standing before them. Their dress and mannerisms suggested that they had each spent some time under the watchful eyes of the state at one time or another.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Archetype asked mildly.

"Your money... _now_," one of the teens said, in as close to a menacing tone his warbling voice could get.

"Now isn't this just a bit cliched?" Archetype asked them. "Late at night, a deserted street... next thing you'll tell me is that you're all carrying guns."

The apparent leader of the group pulled out a Glock-7. "Gods," Archetype said, covering his eyes with one hand. "Why must the young always show such a lack of imagination?" He looked up at the sky, raising his hands as if imploring.

He then swept his right arm down in a flash, striking his cane on the outstretched arm of the punk. Rogue heard the _crack!_ as the young man's arm broke. He fell to his knees, moaning in pain. Archetype was moving before the young man had fully fallen to his knees, striking one of remaining four in the stomach with the head of the cane, then downing another with a leg sweep. He placed his foot on the neck of one of the fallen, then looked at the two would-be assailants who were still standing. "Are you two ready for more of the same?" he asked them. They bolted. He then stooped down beside the young man who had pulled the gun, picking it up by the tip of the barrel. "I'll dispose of this if you don't mind," he told the punk. He then looked at Rogue and Bobby. "You two coming?" he asked them.

They followed him, not knowing what else to do or say. After a few minutes of walking, Rogue finally spoke up. "Just _how_ did you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked.

"Break that guy's arm!"

"Oh. Would you hold this, please?" he asked Bobby, handing the cane to him.

"Sure." Bobby took it, and almost dropped it again as soon as Archetype had let go. It weighed a ton. "Jesus Christ!" Bobby swore. "What is this thing made of?"

"Well, the outside is a wood veneer, but the core is solid brass." He took the cane back, then looked at both of them. "Two things to remember. One: hardly anything is what it seems. Two: like I told Xavier earlier today, I'm _never_ unarmed. Shall we head back?" he said, moving in the general direction of the mansion.

"What are you going to do with the gun?" Bobby asked.

Archetype thought about it for a second. "If I throw this up in the air, can you freeze it?"

"No problem. How cold do you want it?"

"Cold enough for the steel to crack. After that," he said, looking at Rogue, "it's all yours." He tossed the gun into the air.

Bobby froze the gun on its way down, and Rogue shattered it with one blow. "Not bad," Archetype said.

As they made their way back, one of the streetlights that they walked under burned out. "Not _again_," Archetype groaned.

"Something wrong?" Rogue asked him.

He pointed to the streetlight with his cane. "You just saw the reason why you don't want me around the computers for very long. Let's get going."


End file.
